


Stolen Heartbeats and the Feeding Fever

by tonybanner27



Series: Fallout Vampire/Werwolf AU Drabbles [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood and Gore, Consensual Kink, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Sex, Gore, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, MacCready is an awkward top kind of, Mild Painplay, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rough Sex, Sexual Tension, Smut, This was supposed to be a drabble, Torture, Vampire Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:54:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25643869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonybanner27/pseuds/tonybanner27
Summary: Werewolf / Vampire AU; I’ve written up my own rules for them based on things like wolf social behaviors, old af vampire lore, and inspirations from other media sources. Things will kinda get explained as we go but I had this idea for some of the companions and NPC’s at like 1 a.m. and had to write some drabbles. (This turned wayyyyy longer than it was supposed to be, but I love my boys too much not to see it through.) More will probably get added as I think stuff up. Enjoy! Comments, (especially questions) are much appreciated.
Relationships: Deacon & Robert Joseph MacCready, Deacon/Robert Joseph MacCready
Series: Fallout Vampire/Werwolf AU Drabbles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859047
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> MacCready/Deacon; Deacon is a Pre-War Vamp and MacCready is a Post-War Vamp, and after being force fed by raiders the two discover more differences between them than just radiation tolerance.  
> Warnings: Explicit Gore and mildly explicit sexual content.

MacCready misses human blood. It’s not just that it tastes better, or makes him stronger, and sharper; it’s missing how frigging  _ warm  _ it is. Animal blood is fine, sure, often astringent with radiation in various doses depending on the animal; and blood bags were always an awful, stale luke-warm that made his stomach turn. But human blood is always hot and fresh; human blood was like Psycho mixed with Nuka Cola Quantum and pure bliss. MacCready gets tempted, badly, especially when he used to run with the Gunners. His stomach always ached a little when he saw that crimson splattered over Wasteland dirt, or the walls of whatever shack the Gunners carved out, but MacCready couldn’t break his promise to Duncan. Not with swearing, and not with the life-blood of his kind. 

He wondered if Deacon had a similar kind of promise.

The two diametrically opposed vampires sat back to back, wrist to wrist, in two uncomfortable metal chairs in the middle of a musty Pre-War apartment living room. The circumstances of their arrival were… fuzzy, at best, and MacCready’s head hurt trying to remember exactly how the fu- frick a simple mission for Nate had turned into a full capture. Why had he sent them together…? Oh right, vampires must all get along.  _ Mungo.  _ Macready thought disdainfully, rolling his eyes and wincing. Crap. Focus. What happened?

MacCready and Deacon had been sent in Nate’s place to the quickly rising vampire settlement of Starlight Drive-In, finding that the settlers there were having trouble with raiders Lexington Apartments. The leftovers from Jared’s crumbling gang had been threatening to kill the settlers and tear down the theater screen, which kept the settlement in almost 24-hour shade from the sun and provided the perfect place for vampires to rest and work during the daylight hours. 

Nate had instructed them to take care of the settler’s problem, or at least manage it, until he could get back from some detective case he was working with Nick. So MacCready and Deacon decided to clear it out, just the two of them. 

“And now we’re going to get strung out and barbequed in the sun. Fu- friggin fantastic.” MacCready groused out loud, almost jumping out of the zip ties holding him down as his companion chuckled. He had almost forgotten Deacon was even there.

“So optimistic in the face of certain doom, I can see why Nate keeps you around. It’s totally not for your freaky night vision or sniper skills. Nope, just that cheerful attitude.” Deacon said casually, as if he was sitting with MacCready around a bonfire and not tied up in a raider base. MacCready scoffed to hide his surprise that Deacon was even awake yet, wondering how much longer he had been conscious. 

“Right, and he keeps  _ you  _ around for how useful you are. I thought Pre-War vampires were supposed to be,” he jerked against their restraints, “strong, or something.” MacCready huffed and looked around again, shifting. 

“Yeah, I’m sure some of them are. Me? I’m a delicate mosquito.” Deacon sighed, turning his head side to side and stretching out his neck. MacCready rolled his eyes.

“Uh-huh. So what exactly are you good for then, other than bad ideas that get moss-key-toos killed?” He asked, stumbling over the unfamiliar word and frowning. What the hell is a-?

“Mosquito, bloodbugs before they turned the size of cats.” Deacon explained before MacCready could even finish wondering. He turned his wrists experimentally, going still when a shuffling noise alerted them that they weren’t alone. MacCready craned his head to try and see, stifling a curse as he was unable to see past the grimy wall in front of him. This room was weirdly empty, actually. No other furniture, no junk, no garbage, at least not that MacCready could see from his limited view. Just the metal chairs, and weird tall things MacCready couldn’t quite make out. They looked like, coat hangers maybe?

The shuffling grew closer and Deacon jabbed his elbow into MacCready’s side for him to stay still, earning a stifled growl and jab in return. A door opened behind MacCready, and he tensed as he smelled blood. Fresh, hot blood. He could sense the pulse of the raider behind him, his heartbeat heavy and even as he shifted.

“Wow… how the fuck did your shades stay on during all that?” The raider, or presumably raider, asked Deacon. MacCready couldn’t see Deacon’s face, but he could hear the slight smirk in his voice as he spoke. 

“Lesson one of vampirism, how to keep one’s eyewear intact. Very compelling course study at Vampire school, you should take it sometime.” He replied, keeping his voice easy. MacCready heard more movement, and Deacon’s entire back went rigid as the raider drew close and snatched the sunglasses off of his face. MacCready narrowed his own eyes, wincing as floodlights flicked on around them and left him blind. So that’s what the coat hanger shaped shadows were.

“Oh wow, y’know I wished you’d left those off, cause you’re ugly as shit.” Deacon complained, somehow not moving his head even as MacCready tucked his chin against his chest and squeezed his eyes shut. It felt like having a sledgehammer sitting on each of his eyeballs, which was arguably less awful than having them open and stabbed by dozens of blinding knives. The raider huffed and moved against, circling around Deacon’s right and coming up to MacCready.

The raider grabbed MacCready’s jaw roughly and forced his head up, and MacCready opened his watering eyes with a defiance that burned worse than the light. The raider was, as Deacon correctly assessed, ugly, but worse than that he was clearly angry, and clearly a vampire.

He was wearing thick, blacked out goggles, and a bloodstained bandana around his square neck that had been used to wipe the blood around his mouth. It was fresh, and the smell was both sickening and enticing as MacCready’s thoughts dropped to how long it had been since he’d fed, and wondering where this raider had gotten what smelled to be, clean blood. 

“Two vampires working for the Vault Dweller... Gotta say, I’m surprised you’re sticking with him. From what I hear the Gunners have got a great setup for freaks like us.” The raider said, tilting MacCready’s head toward the spotlight and laughing as he winced and shut his eyes again. “Aw, miss it so much you gotta cry.” MacCready just growled in response, baring his teeth and opening his eyes again as the raider let go of his jaw and walked back to Deacon’s side.

MacCready’s face burned with embarrassment, the tears running down his cheeks leaving paths on his reddened face. Deacon squeezed his wrist, the pad of his thumb slipping into MacCready’s palm. He felt a lump in his throat, and was glad he didn’t need to breathe. The raider leaned down towards Deacon, his blood-breath close enough that MacCready could feel it brush the back of his neck and send a shudder down his spine. Deacon didn’t move.  _ Did he ever?  _

“Now you I haven’t heard of. You look like a scavver, so I’m guessing MacCready over here is escorting you somewhere important for dirty work.” The raider continued. “I was going to just kill you both, stick your heads on pikes and send you back to Starlight.” MacCready’s stomach flipped and he tensed, the sliver of relief that Deacon’s disguise had worked disappearing as soon as it came.

“But now I’m thinking a bit differently.” The sour  _ zing  _ of a blade being drawn seemed to echo around the bare room, and MacCready felt sweat beading on the back of his neck, something he didn’t even know could still happen.  _ Sh-crap, we’re dead. _

“See, if I kill you here and send the pieces out, people may start guessing. Making up stories of what really happened; who overpowered who. You’ll be dead either way, but now what I’m thinking is…” Deacon’s gentle squeeze around MacCready’s wrist tightened as the smell of fresh blood split the air, the raider drawing a hard red line into the top of Deacon’s forearm. The raider’s heartbeat fluttered excitedly, his fresh fed pulse quickening at the scent and sight of Deacon’s blood. He inhaled sharply, the sickening pause between his words growing.

“I’m gonna tear you both to little pieces, get you fed, hungry,  _ animals.  _ Then? I’ll take you back to your glorified nest and I’ll behead you right in front of them before tearing the whole fucking thing to the ground.” The raider promised, his sick grin cracking his voice as he laughed again and shoved Deacon back, rocking both metal chairs and slammed the door behind him as he left. 

MacCready shuddered as the door slammed, tucking his chin against his chest and squeezing his eyes shut again.  _ Fuck. Shit. This is bad.  _ He took a deep breath, trying to remember how that used to calm him down when he started panicking, trying to remember why it worked, or why he was here or why-

“Hey, I need some focus.” Deacon said, cutting through the buzz starting to fill MacCready’s head. MacCready shifted, closing his hand around Deacon’s thumb and leaning his shoulders back so their backs touched. Deacon gave another, gentler squeeze around his wrist.   
  


“I need to tell you something that’s gonna make shit complicated, really complicated.” Deacon said. MacCready stilled, nodding once. Silence, harsh and white like the floodlights filled the room, and MacCready almost wondered if Deacon was screwing with him. If he still needed to breathe, this would be the second time Deacon left MacCready breathless, and at a complete loss for words. 

  
“I haven’t fed on _ anything _ alive for almost sixty-five years.” Oh  _ fuck _ **.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we get a slice of Deacon's perspective

Deacon barely remembered what human blood tasted like. He knew it was good, he knew that  _ nothing _ compared to the rush of stealing warmth and a pulse from a living body. Not Jet, not Psycho, nor even the hazy bliss of Med-X that Deacon felt the itch for in situations like this one. He also knew how dangerous he was under that influence, he knew he should never,  _ ever  _ feed live again. Not after he lost Barbara; not after the budding Railroad found him drenched in a bloodbath he created, losing all feeling or sense of himself in the heady aftermath of vengeance. That vampire was dead, well and truly staked and burned in those fields. The vampire that was left was always in control of himself, drank cold blood bags enough to keep him functionally alive and operated as the Railroad’s deadliest asset. 

That vampire was about to be force fed a live meal for the first time in nearly a century; and left with no choice bared honesty to the person he least expected to ever possess that kind of dangerous information. The honesty scared him more than the thought of fresh blood, human blood, and Deacon was really glad that MacCready couldn’t see his face at that particular moment. 

“Please, hold the applause at my amazing self control skills.” He commented, swallowing dryly as MacCready remained silent, and completely still. Deacon squeezed his wrist again, raising his eyebrows.  _ Was it that scary?  _

“How… shit Deacon how are you even… okay?” MacCready managed slowly, closing his palm around Deacon’s thumb even tighter as if that information was going to make Deacon spontaneously crumble away to dust. Deacon paused, surprised and… confused, by the genuine concern in MacCready’s voice.  _ Not what I expected, but cool.  _

“Well… just my Pre-War strength I suppose.” He deflected, shaking away the nervous edge that question brought to his mind. It was a question Deacon didn’t want the answer to, because he knew that he really wasn’t okay and that feeding fresh would ensure that everyone  _ else  _ wasn’t okay.  _ Focus. _

“So, that’s going to be a problem if he gets past the maiming-and-torturing stage of this fantastic vampire raider plan.” Deacon continued, keeping the nervous edge out of his voice as he spoke. MacCready shook his head slowly.

“One of us has to feed.” He said. “We can’t make it out this weak and if we get caught in the sun none of it matters.”

“So what’s the play?” Deacon asked, sensing a shift in MacCready’s thinking and curious to see where it went. MacCready twisted his wrists a few times, testing and pulling at the zip ties again and rocking the chairs side to side. Deacon rode the motions easily, getting a feeling for where MacCready was going with this and mentally jumping between ideas. Backup ideas, backups for the backups. 

Deacon’s mind spun and he eyed the door in front of him, frustrated that the bright light in the room rendered watching for shadows under the door impossible. His eyes were burning without his sunglasses, the nakedness more disturbing than the light as Deacon felt utterly raw without that dark wall between himself and the world. MacCready jostled the chairs again, huffing. 

“We have to get those fricking goggles off of him.” MacCready huffed, going still as a real idea hit him. Deacon could practically feel his sly smirk.

“Oh, I got it. ‘Kay, are you listening?” MacCready asked. Deacon rolled his eyes. 

“No I’m thoroughly absorbed in the blinding patch of concrete in front of me.” Deacon retorted. “Go ahead.” MacCready grumbled under his breath but bit back some snarky reply, focusing and keeping his words short.

“If we can get the goggles off of him when he’s holding the knife, one of us can tip over onto the floor and grab it. Cut us free, and we run for our fucking lives while he’s blind.” MacCready said, his voice buzzing with nerves. Deacon’s mind did a leap from that plan to how it could go wrong, and he swallowed again considering their options. It was a risky play, especially considering their captor knew they were vampires and knew how to kill them, but it was one of many risky plays. 

“Alright. What the hells.” Deacon said, his eyes snapping to the doorway as he heard heavy footsteps returning. MacCready heard them, tensing and shifting to ready himself. Deacon squeezed his wrist again, and MacCready wrapped his palm around Deacon’s thumb in return. 

The raider opened the door, the bucket of fresh blood he was carrying dripping onto the floor and making Deacon’s stomach ache with every drop.  _ So much for the plan.  _ Deacon’s eyes slid from the bucket to the raider’s face, watching him like a hawk. The raider grinned when Deacon’s eyes met his, glaring against the black glass of the goggles. Deacon internalized a growl at having his own defense turned against him. The raider set the bucket down and dipped a glass in it, holding it up and turning back to look between Deacon’s face and MacCready’s nervous shoulders.

“I’m gonna enjoy watching you two rip each other apart for me.” He said. 

_ Fuck. _


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to spice up here, MacCready is terribly distracted by Deacon.

“Y’know it’s so sweet of you to offer, but how could I accept a drink from someone’s name I don’t know? Stranger danger they say.” Deacon replied calmly. 

Deacon was stalling, his hidden hold on MacCready’s wrist clammy and tense despite the complete control over his voice. MacCready was panicking again, the scent of blood making his thoughts swim as Deacon tried to deflect the fresh blood from himself. MacCready had never, in his entire _ life _ , heard of a vampire who didn’t feed. It was unbelievable to think Deacon was still alive; a Pre-War vampire who didn’t feed live should be a dust bunny under some abandoned ruin, not trying to chat a raider up and clinging to MacCready’s wrist like he was some kind of tether to the present world. 

The raider shifted again and Deacon went rigid, the soft sounds of choked swallowing confirming MacCready’s fear. Deacon was drinking blood; fresh, human blood. And the raider had what smelled to be a bucketful in front of him.  _ So much for the plan.  _ MacCready thought, Deacon’s grip tightened around his wrist jolting him from his thoughts. Deacon’s entire body shivered, his head leaning back onto MacCready’s neck to drink deeper. MacCready tucked his chin against his chest, giving a tiny tug to the zip ties as he bowed his head.  _ You need to break these, NOW.  _

It was like Deacon read MacCready’s mind.

The raider pulled the blood away from Deacon, laughing and setting the glass down with a loud _ clank _ . He stepped back, and MacCready frowned worriedly as Deacon went completely still. He could feel warmth radiating from him now, sensing a weak pulse fluttering into the vampiric mimicry of life from a fresh feeding. Why wasn’t he moving?

“You look like you’re tasting blood for the first time scavver, It's almost cute.” The raider laughed, squatting down to Deacon’s level and blocking the floodlight in front of them. The shadow passed over MacCready, a brief respite from the harsh light. Deacon groaned a little, stirring and mumbling something even MacCready couldn’t make out. 

“What was that?” The raider asked, leaning in so close his breath hit MacCready’s neck again. Deacon tilted his head back to face forward, exhaling slowly.

“You fucked up.” Deacon said, his voice scaring MacCready with how low, and strong it sounded. Deacon ripped his arms forward, snapping the zip ties and tackling the raider to the floor. In the split second it took for MacCready to turn around and stand, the raider was already gurgling out a scream from the wound in his throat and thrashing under Deacon’s grip. It was useless, and MacCready watched with a rapt fascination and horror as Deacon drained the vampire. When he finished and stood up, MacCready couldn’t bite back the gasp that left his chest. 

Deacon’s face had softened from its usual gauntness; keeping the defined cheekbones and angular jaw, and adding a light dusting of freckles across pale skin that no longer stretched over his face in an almost painful way. MacCready’s eyes followed the wide path of blood down Deacon’s face to his chest, fully appreciating his tall, lean frame that was barely covered by his formerly white T-shirt. Deacon bent down to grab his sunglasses from the floor, and MacCready’s eyes almost glazed over as they wandered further down the transformed, full form of Deacon. His thighs alone could have made MacCready faint on the spot; and MacCready turned his head as Deacon’s eyes flicked his way in what might have been a smirk. Deacon had bloomed like a vicious, bloodied sunrise from an ashen night; and the vampire that stood before MacCready could have been a poster for the power of Pre-War vampires. 

“If you’re finished staring, we need to go. I don't know if I can keep it together like this.” Deacon said, his rich, gravelly voice laced with tension and discomfort. MacCready jumped, nodding and grabbing the dead raider’s knife and leading the way out of the bright room. 

He paused once outside, shutting the door and letting his aching eyes readjust to the darkness. It took longer than he wanted, but the blissful darkness was such a relief that, if MacCready wasn’t in the middle of a raider base, he could have crouched there for hours to let his eyes rest. Deacon peeked around the corner as MacCready readied himself, his thrumming heart stirring something in MacCready he chose to ignore. Now was like, the worst time for MacCready to be turned on or distracted. 

“I count… shit, too many.” Deacon said, his hands balling into fists. MacCready touched his arm, flinching as Deacon’s eyes snapped to his. The leftover light from the previous room reflected off Deacon’s pupils, and MacCready wished he hadn’t chosen that moment to slide his reflective sunglasses back into his face.

“Deacon, you’ve earned it.” MacCready said, squeezing his wrist like Deacon had his. “Feed. I’ll cover you.” 

Deacon went still, unnaturally even for a vampire as he processed MacCready’s words and shivered. He looked back around the corner, his muscles shaking with the contained tension. MacCready couldn’t believe what he was saying, but Deacon shook his head and turned back to him with a genuinely agonized, fearful expression.

“I- you don’t understand…” Deacon insisted. He opened his mouth again, his fangs glistening with blood as whatever protest he had planned died in his throat. He shuffled back from the corner and wrapped his arms around his chest, shivering. 

“I won’t be able to stop. I haven’t- I haven’t for so long…” Deacon stuffed his hand over his own mouth, curling up and inhaling shakily. MacCready kept his grip on Deacon’s forearm, where the raider cut had already healed over without so much as a red mark left. Deacon looked up, his sunglasses slipping and revealing his wide eyes.

“I’m scared.” He breathed, tears welling up in his eyes. MacCready leaned in closer, ignoring every instinct screaming at him to bolt, and nodded. It was scary; MacCready telling him to do this, the fact that MacCready had more experience balancing his needs than a Pre-War vampire, and the fact that he was comforting Deacon, all bizarre aspects of this situation compounding on each other. 

“We’re trapped here, they’ll kill us if we don’t kill them. We promised Nate we were gonna handle this, so we have to get out.” MacCready stated flatly. Deacon’s face fell and he turned to the corner again, looking down and swallowing.

“I mean it when I say I won’t be able to stop. I could hurt you.” He said slowly, the fear dropping from his voice like it hadn’t crept into his throat four seconds ago. MacCready scoffed a little and just shrugged, gesturing to the corner. That final permission, that incentive, pushed Deacon over some hidden edge and in a split second he disappeared around the corner. MacCready blinked twice, his mouth falling open as he scrambled up to follow and cover Deacon like he promised. It was, as he discovered turning the corner, totally obsolete.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was supposed to be a reasonably short sex scene that turned into 10 pages of paced smut and emotions. There should be one or two more chapters in this drabble and then I'm gonna start the next one centering on Werewolves! Enjoy.

Deacon’s heart hadn’t beat in decades, every beat felt like it was pushing molten lava through his body and melting him down from the inside. The world flickered in and out of focus in time with his heart; the beats bringing him flashes of whatever raider he was devouring, or the rooms he moved through, and once he could have sworn he saw MacCready’s face staring at him from behind a falling body. Every muscle in Deacon’s body shook with life, the pressure of blood being squeezed into every tiny fiber and filling him with a painful, buzzing force almost too much for him to bear at once. It was agony, a heavenless bliss that burned and ached with the raw power and overdue healing Deacon’s body needed. So many things a blood bag just couldn’t fix knitting together and immediately being pushed back to their limits.

True to his word, Deacon could not stop. He slipped between rooms around shadows and corners like a wraith; pulling raiders into the dark and swallowing their screams through their jugulars as he drank them dry. Every single one of them; until the only hearts left beating were Deacon and MacCready’s. Deacon’s chest heaved as he spun in the empty street of Lexington, his senses dialed to the absolute maximum and desperately seeking his next meal. MacCready’s hand clamped around his wrist and Deacon turned, blinking slowly and forcing his frenzied mind to slow down enough to hear what MacCready was saying.

“... strung out. You can’t handle the sun, not like this. Come on.” MacCready said, his voice so sharp and clear it hurt to hear so close. Deacon nodded, unable to even form a coherent word as he stumbled and followed MacCready by the wrist. They climbed their way through…  _ Holy shit.  _ Piles, actual piles of bodies thrown over the streets; and Deacon realized that the two of them together killed every single raider in Lexington in what felt like just a few short moments. But it must have been hours; MacCready was leading Deacon into an abandoned home next to the Super Duper Mart, aka across the entire town from where they had been held captive. MacCready turned sharply down the street, helping Deacon over a ruined car shell into a house tucked under a mostly crumbled section of the freeway overpass. 

“Hey, talk to me.” MacCready said, pausing outside the door and grabbing Deacon’s shoulder to steady him. Deacon looked up blearily, blinking slowly again. He realized MacCready meant him and opened his mouth, frowning as words got stuck in his sticky throat and finding them again made the heat in his head worse.

“I… Everything is sharp, and slow…’s hot too.” Deacon mumbled, letting MacCready tug him inside the cool, dusty interior of the house. MacCready shoved the jammed door shut behind them, sighing as Deacon sank to the floor and curled up in a tight ball. He was shaking again now, a feverish crash from the blood-soaked high of a feast like their escape had turned into. MacCready pulled him onto the ruined couch against the wall, kneeling down next to Deacon and pulling one of his hands away from his face. Deacon tried to swat him away, sitting halfway up and backing into the cushions. MacCready huffed, holding up a can of purified water and a rag.

“You’re disgusting; I need to clean the blood while it’s still wetish.” He said shortly, grabbing Deacon’s wrist and moving it out of the way to wipe Deacon’s mouth off exasperatedly. Deacon leaned away again with a grimace.

“I can- I got it.” Deacon said, grabbing for the rag and wiping his face off tiredly.  _ He couldn’t look that bad, could he?  _ A glance into the cracked, dusty mirror confirmed that yes, he could look that bad. Deacon’s mouth fell open and he scrambled to the mirror, wiping the dust off with a dry part of his shirt. Deacon stared at himself, his arms braced against the cabinet’s top and trembling in waves. 

“Hey! wha- oh.” MacCready said, looking around Deacon’s shoulder at the mirror. “I guess we can see in this one.” 

Deacon’s face was still bloody, a wide path smeared from ear to ear and smothering his front in crimson. Deacon reached up and ghosted his fingertips over the soft points of his ears, running down his face and picking at his shirt collar. His white T-shirt was ruined; torn around his midsection and exposing taut muscle, now stained with blood splatters across his eerily pale skin. His skin, restored to its original freckled state and warm to the touch, was a frightening contrast from it’s usual ashen appearance. Deacon’s eyes slid back up to his face; noting that his reddish eyebrows now matched the short stubble on his head. Cuts and bullet wounds dotted his chest, already healed over and leaving only scars behind as he took all of himself in with a flat horror. Deacon was staring at the body of a vampire he had left in charred farm fields and a massacre; he was staring at the man he had been then. 

Deacon felt a flutter of panic in his stomach, balling the collar of his shirt in his fist and pulling it off like it burned. MacCready stepped back and held up his hands as Deacon threw it aside, leaning over the cabinet and shuddering. Deacon exhaled once, slowly, feeling his chest cave inwards towards his heart as he pushed the air from his stagnant lungs and put a hand over his face. He looked up again, his heart twisting as he met his own eyes in the cracked glass.

His pupils were so wide they took up almost all of his eyes, a thin blue ring around the edges the only indication of their color. The weak moonlight filtering through the boarded up windows reflected back in his eyes; flat disks of silver light covering the supposed “window to the soul” eyes were meant to be. Deacon didn’t want to see in his soul, and he didn’t want anyone else to see it either _. He was still a monster inside.  _ There wasn’t enough facial surgery in the world that could hide it.

Which is why he looked down when he caught MacCready’s face still staring over his shoulder, avoiding the same eyes that lacked the unhinged edge of Deacon’s gaze. Deacon felt cold, like he hadn’t fed at all and the lava in his muscles was flash frozen into a dull ache of slag and sickened self-loathing.  _ You knew this would happen.  _ Deacon thought to himself, hanging his head and balling his hands into fists against the cabinet. 

MacCready slid his lanky arm around Deacon’s bare waist, tucking his face against the back of Deacon’s shoulder. The pit of Deacon’s stomach warmed instantly and he tensed, a mixture of confusion and arousal rolling through him. MacCready was almost as touchy-feely as Deacon, which was to say he would practically bite the head off anyone who so much as tried to shake his hand. 

“MacCready…?” He asked slowly, turning his head enough to see MacCready’s dirty brown hair brushed over his own shoulder. MacCready stretched his other arm between Deacon’s, his palm flat next to Deacon’s right fist and brushing the knot of his thumb as he settled closer. Deacon stood a little straighter, causing MacCready to shift and tuck his jaw against Deacon’s shoulder with a cocky grin. Deacon felt a tingling warmth in his body, the opposite of the frenzied burn from before. A gentle, growing ember spreading from his shoulders down to his knees and making him weak.

“I still don’t get it.” MacCready said, his voice barely above a whisper. Deacon frowned, opening his mouth to ask what MacCready meant.

“How could you go so  _ long  _ without this?” MacCready asked, dragging his jaw along Deacon’s clavicle and running the hand on his waist slowly over a healed bullet wound. Deacon shivered, swallowing the groan in his throat and closing his eyes for a moment. This was dangerous, arguably more than the feeding MacCready was referring to as every inch of skin MacCready touched felt ignited with low burning fire. Some rational part of Deacon’s mind told him to push MacCready away, to flee into the sun and leave Lexington completely until he had a new face. MacCready’s hand sliding past Deacon’s waistband killed that voice of reason, his fingertips gliding over the dip of Deacon’s hip and stopping there.

“Like I said, unparalleled self control skills. I’m a- a modern wonder.” Deacon said, his banter coming out stuttered as MacCready started running the back of his other hand up Deacon’s forearm. Deacon risked a glance in the mirror again, his knees threatening to give out at the mesmerized look on MacCready’s face as he carefully traced the muscle on Deacon’s arms with a crooked knuckle. MacCready’s eyes flickered up and met Deacon’s, the same cocky grin from before exposing his fangs over Deacon’s shoulder.

“Uh-huh. How’d it feel to be brought back down to level?” He asked, running his hands up and down Deacon’s arm while keeping a steady grip on his hip. Deacon swallowed, his deliberate breath catching in his chest as his mind blanked on recalling the escape.  _ Like jumping in the ocean and letting the waves beat me against the bottom, like being burned alive from the bones outward. Like sitting around a fire with one too many beers and a family carved out just for me. It felt like how fucking bad I want to kiss you right now, bastard.  _

“It-it felt… like I didn’t deserve it.” Deacon croaked, squeezing his eyes shut at the jarring honesty. He didn’t think to say it, he didn’t consider how that sounded or what it meant it just, slipped. Deacon built his life on never slipping, on keeping an even footing with his words and his face and body language every second he was around other people. 

Why the hell was it so easy to slip here, to slip around MacCready and brace for a fall that hadn’t happened yet? MacCready wasn’t easy to be around, Deacon reminded himself; he was snarky, abrasive, an all around calloused prick who went from job to job like caps were blood and he was starved. A mean, hungry animal, that’s what MacCready was.

That bastard just wrapped his arm tighter around Deacon and curled his hand around Deacon’s wrist, squeezing it. He brushed the tip of his nose against Deacon’s neck, right along the pulse that hammered under his skin and slowly kissed him there. MacCready could have torn his throat open, drained him and ran into the last fragments of dawn without a second thought. Instead he kissed a path down Deacon’s neck and pressed closer to him, running his hand up Deacon’s chest and holding him by the ribs. He paused, his hands pulling back enough to give Deacon the space to move away, to say no or slip out of his arms and leave.  _ You’re not trapped here.  _

Deacon failed to bite back a second groan, shivering again and tilting his head back just enough to encourage MacCready onward. He felt weak, raw like the skin MacCready touched was being pulled back and exposing every dark corner of himself to his hands. MacCready seemed to pick up on it enough to place his hands back where they were, pulling Deacon back to fit against his body and loosening the tension in his arms as he pulled back from the mirror. Deacon turned away from it, turning enough to delicately grab MacCready’s jaw and kiss him fully. 

MacCready made a soft sound of surprise before leaning in, standing on his tiptoes to even out the awkward angle Deacon’s head was at and adjusting his hold on Deacon’s wrist. He pulled him to the couch, only breaking the kiss long enough to avoid tripping on the broken coffee table and push Deacon onto the cushions roughly.

He was grinning, looking down as Deacon landed with a huff and immediately groaned against MacCready’s chest when he straddled his hips. He felt fucking perfect; like MacCready’s weight was made to fit in Deacon’s arms and press against him with urgency and need. MacCready leaned away to reach for his shirt, Deacon’s deft hands sliding up his chest and pulling it away before MacCready could stop him. He placed his arms around Deacon’s neck instead, kissing him hard and shifting to let Deacon methodically undress him layer by layer until they were both sitting there panting in just jeans and shoes. 

"Fucking hell Deacon, and I thought you were hot  _ before. _ " MacCready rasped, knocking the wind out of Deacon's chest harder than landing on the couch had. He looked up, not even trying to mask the surprise on his face. MacCready looked down and his face flushed as he realized he said that out loud. 

"I'm sorry, what? Mac d'you… You have a crush on me?" Deacon asked incredulously, his mouth falling open as the blush spread to MacCready's neck. 

"Yeah I…" MacCready rubbed the back of his neck and huffed. "I haven't exactly been subtle about it! You seriously haven't noticed my stupid flirting at all?" 

Deacon's mind spun as he recalled several times he thought he was getting more than a friendly vibe from MacCready; he’d always brushed it off, ignored when MacCready looked at him for just a few seconds longer than he needed, or clumsily brushed against him on long walks between settlements. Deacon told himself he must have been imagining it, but here it was and had been right in Deacon’s face the entire time. He smiled a little distantly, two of those memories drifting into his mind’s eyes; memories that stuck to him even after eight months of stepping on each other’s snarky comments and acidic mistrust had slowly turned into a begrudging friendship. 

_ Poker nights at Mercer Safehouse drew long into the night, most of the synths lulled to sleep by the safety and camaraderie in the lakeside. Nate, MacCready, Deacon, and High Rise stayed up until the moon stopped shining over the water, chatting quietly around the small coffee table and sipping beers as they played. It was one of the rare nights Deacon let himself drink, whiskey taking the biting cold from his fingertips. MacCready dealt the next hand, and Deacon eyed him from behind his sunglasses and smirked. He caught him staring at Deacon’s hands wrapped around the whiskey glass, and MacCready just blinked twice and kept dealing with a subtle flush on his neck. Hm. Through the night Deacon caught MacCready a total of four times, a ghost of a crooked grin on his lips every time MacCready’s eyes wandered from his shades to his arms to the edge of the table. Deacon won the pot without batting an eye; leaving that flush on MacCready’s neck as he stared him down and winked before setting his final hand on the table. Everyone went to bed a few caps lighter, and left Deacon with questions he didn’t want answered with whiskey on his tongue. _

_ Nate had an unfortunate habit of agreeing to tasks without a whole lot of contextual information, which meant for the third time that week Nate, Deacon, and MacCready were clearing a potential Minuteman settlement that turned into a hair raising fight for their lives. A Deathclaw and mob of feral ghouls inhabited the “abandoned” Sunshine Tidings Co-op, and while Nate was cornered by ghouls in the main barn, MacCready and Deacon were creeping through a cabin with the entire back half ripped apart to avoid the Deathclaw sniffing them out. It poked its head around the wall and Deacon and MacCready both backed out of the side doorway, MacCready’s foot entirely missing the edge of the porch and sending them both falling off into the dirt. Deacon scrambled to his feet, hauling MacCready up by his arms and steadying them. MacCready stared at him, his eyes wide and lips parted with a slight gasp as they were pressed chest to chest in that split second of quiet. The Deathclaw’s roar pierced the clearing and they jumped, sprinting down the hill to where Nate was waving them into the barn. MacCready didn’t let go of Deacon’s wrist, and Deacon didn’t pull away. Not until they left the Co-op, drifting apart for their separate missions and leaving Deacon with a hopeful knot in his stomach he needed to unravel before it tripped them into something much more dangerous than a Deathclaw’s maw.  _

MacCready was looking at him like that again; like those glances when he thought Deacon’s eyes were somewhere else behind his shades, or when they pulled each other from the razor edge of death during missions. But Deacon didn’t have his sunglasses, and there were no Deathclaws or raiders on their heels to take the moment away. Just the two of them, intertwined on a dusty couch and hidden away in the safety of shadows and the kind of secrecy that fit Deacon like a well worn pair of shoes. 

“Here I was thinking you were a super spy or something.” MacCready said, leaning down and kissing Deacon with a softer passion that made Deacon’s throat tighten and heart flutter in his chest. Deacon leaned back and held onto MacCready’s hip hard, his other hand reaching up to cup his face and pull him closer. 

“I thought I was imagining it. Projecting a little, maybe.” Deacon admitted between kisses, his hands drifting to meet against MacCready’s abs and pull him down onto his lap fully. MacCready rolled his hips and Deacon’s breath harshened, moaning against MacCready’s collarbone and leaving a trail of kisses along the edge. 

  
“You’re so fff- fricking hard to read, I had no idea if you were just screwing with me or just hiding it really well.” MacCready responded breathlessly, sinking against Deacon’s hands and mouth and running his hands over Deacon’s shoulders and up his arms. He took Deacon’s hands and laced his fingers in Deacon’s, kissing him again and trusting Deacon to keep them both steady as he put his weight against Deacon’s forearms. Deacon turned them both and sank onto his back, holding MacCready’s to his chest and tilting his head deeper into the kiss. Deacon felt like his soul was being pressed back into his body with the weight of MacCready laying on him, his breath ghosting over Deacon’s face and their hands clasped against their hearts like the steady rhythms weren’t stolen and fading with the rising sun. MacCready braced his arms around Deacon’s head and looked down at him, that infuriating, cocky grin that made Deacon’s stomach do flips plastered on his face. 

“Goddamn.” MacCready breathed, his eyes drifting over Deacon’s chest before landing on his eyes and staying there, transfixed and alight with a mixture of mischief and arousal. Deacon squirmed a little under his gaze, tucking his hands behind his head and clearing his throat so he had some excuse to look away. When he looked back MacCready had his scarf twisted between his hands, looking at where Deacon’s hands were with the same stillness he got when an idea struck him. Deacon cocked an eyebrow, arching his hips at the bolt of arousal that went through him at the idea he knew MacCready was contemplating. He lifted his hands up from behind his head, holding them up with his wrists together and walking his shoulders back enough that he was comfortable. 

“Yeah?” MacCready asked, his eyes darting between Deacon’s face and his hands excitedly. Deacon slowly rolled his hips up again, finding the perfect angle that drew a filthy moan from MacCready’s throat and made him brace a hand against his chest. MacCready tied Deacon’s hands above his head in a loose knot, pushing him down and kissing him so hard Deacon shivered. MacCready licked along Deacon’s bottom lip and his mouth parted hungrily, their movements turning filthy and urgent.

MacCready kept one hand pinning Deacon’s bound hands against the arm of the couch, the other hand tracing down his chest and abs in almost reverent touches as he felt his way down to Deacon’s waistband. Deacon tilted his head and broke their heated kiss, cutting off MacCready’s protest by nipping his ear and kissing down his jaw and neck. MacCready gasped and fumbled for Deacon’s zipper, releasing Deacon’s wrists as he sat up enough to see what he was doing. The second Deacon’s pants were loose he leaned back down for another kiss, slowly palming Deacon’s erection through his boxers and drawing short, breathless moans from Deacon’s mouth between breaths. He could barely form a coherent thought between the slew of epithets and curses in his head; and MacCready sliding his hand under Deacon’s boxers had his mouth falling open with the first senseless thing his brain came up with.

“Oh fuck  _ me. _ ” Deacon moaned, tilting his head back and letting his eyes close in the perfect tension between them. MacCready laughed breathlessly and paused, grinning as Deacon opened his eyes and had to be flushed head to toe by now given the light in MacCready’s eyes. He felt a slight twinge of embarrassment, shifting under MacCready and closing his mouth. 

“I’m guessing you didn’t bring any oil to back that up did you?” MacCready asked, and Deacon let his head fall back in frustration.  _ Shit, that didn’t mean this part had to stop. _ MacCready kissed down his jaw and exhaled slowly. 

“Next time.” He promised, and Deacon’s hands curled into fists at the delicious, terrifying thought of a next time between them. MacCready started working him again, his free hand trailing down the side of Deacon’s chest and tracing along every small muscle and scar scattered over his skin. Deacon tipped his head back and relaxed completely; rolling his hips into MacCready’s rough hand and gasping between his grit teeth at the mind numbing friction. MacCready had the most perfect fucking hands in the Commonwealth, Deacon decided, mumbling something that might have been coherent words as MacCready broke their kiss and grinned. 

“What was that?” He asked, his hand drifting from Deacon’s boxers up the light trail of reddish hair on his stomach. Deacon swallowed and looked up, resting his head against his bicep and looking at MacCready in a daze. He grinned, blinking slowly.

“Hm? Oh just appreciating all that sniper training you’ve done. “Ribbed for his pleasure” should be the label on your hands.” Deacon quipped, pulling out a cheesy line he found printed on an empty condom box months ago when he and Nate cleared the Super Duper Mart across the street. MacCready snorted and shook his head a little, licking his lips and running his hands over Deacon’s chest to the back of his shoulders. 

“Are your arms okay? We can move.” MacCready said, biting his lip as he appreciated how Deacon’s current position bunched his broad shoulders and stretched his arms out. Deacon raised an eyebrow, looking up at his hands and turning his wrists a few times to shift in the loose hold MacCready’s scarf had. 

“Where exactly would we move to?” Deacon asked, resting his hands on his head and taking a deep breath. MacCready eyed the stairs near the door.

“We could see if there’s a bed?” He suggested, looking down with an open expression. Deacon considered it, part of him would like something to hold onto and the other part of him was far too deep in wanting to pause for much longer. This pace was perfectly slow, but Deacon’s nerves were burning for more and he just shook his head. 

“I want this now. Here, please.” He said, a whine tinging the last word as he rolled his hips up again and MacCready sank back down into the heated kisses. He pulled Deacon’s pants and boxers down past his hips, breaking their kiss and running his hands down Deacon’s chest. MacCready followed the path he made, wrapping his lips around Deacon’s cock and sending sparks through Deacon’s entire body.

“ _ Please.”  _ Deacon insisted, his voice rasping with wanton need. MacCready hummed, settling comfortably with his hands clasped on Deacon’s thighs to pull his legs open and lick along the underside of Deacon’s cock. He kept his pace slow, clearly reveling in every sound Deacon made as he gasped and let his head fall back against the cushions. Deacon moaned and pressed his face against his arm, his eyes closed and mouth parted in a tense, restrained expression. This was better than feeding, a thousand times better; every inch of his body was warm and hungry without the pangs or chasing an edge that he couldn’t ever truly reach. MacCready was  _ right  _ there, slating Deacon’s thirst and drowning him in heavy waves of pleasure that made his heart thrum. 

MacCready pulled back and lazily kissed Deacon’s inner thighs, his heavy lidded eyes flicking up with a smirk as Deacon looked at him with a dizzy confusion.  _ Why the fuck was he stopping?  _ MacCready let the pause drag on a moment longer, looking into Deacon’s eyes with a glittering anticipation. Then he swirled his tongue around the head of Deacon’s cock, gripping his thighs tighter and deep throating him. 

Deacon’s back arched and he moaned MacCready’s name like a curse, panting and trying not to buck into his mouth. MacCready’s cheeks hollowed and he ran his hands up Deacon’s thighs as he sucked hard, switching between swirling licking and swallowing at a careful pace. Deacon’s head swam and sparks popped behind his half closed eyes, lava-like pleasure pouring between his legs and spreading from his stomach to his toes. 

Deacon came so hard his vision went white, his mind floating in and out of his body as waves of lava crashed through him and he moaned in a harsh exhale. MacCready kissed up the length of his cock, smiling and pulling Deacon into the heady afterglow with calloused hands and soft lips. He slid back up to Deacon’s chest, laying his head down to hear Deacon’s heartbeat steadying back out and kissing the dip between his ribs where it rested. Deacon looked down at him, panting and furrowing his eyebrows. 

“Hey… ‘s your turn.” He said, slowly lowering his hands from above his head and undoing the knot with his teeth. MacCready looked up and raised his eyebrows, wetting his lips.

“You sure? You look wrecked.” MacCready said, sitting up and smoothing his hair as he looked Deacon up and down. The remains of blood on his chest had smeared from the sweat and friction between them, leaving smudged red patches over both mens’ chests and in slender paths where MacCready’s hands had roamed over his skin. He was still panting, and trembling a little now that MacCready mentioned it. Deacon just gave him a lopsided smile and sat up, reaching for MacCready’s fly and eyeing the sharp tent in his pants eagerly. 

“Your fault entirely.” Deacon accused with a smile, looking up as MacCready braced himself on Deacon’s shoulders and cupped his jaw gently. MacCready’s eyes were on his lips, flickering up to meet Deacon’s and burning with need. Deacon unzipped MacCready’s pants and licked his lips appreciatively, wasting no time using some of MacCready’s tricks against him. MacCready moaned and watched Deacon with rapt attention, his hands curling around Deacon’s shoulders and trembling as he got closer to the edge. 

MacCready did not last long, already close from pleasuring Deacon he came undone in Deacon’s grip and shuddered. His head lolled back and his eyes fluttered shut, the wretched moan drawn from him making Deacon’s stomach do twists. He panted raggedly and sank down back onto Deacon’s lap, his lanky arms falling loosely around Deacon as they both fought to catch their breath and bask in the heat rolling off each other’s skin. 

Deacon pulled MacCready tight against his chest again and pulled his pants back up, hooking a leg around MacCready’s waist and settling into the couch comfortably. MacCready looked up from his face blearily, frowning. 

“Sun’s coming up… someone might break in.” He said slowly. Deacon twisted and eyed the door, shaking his head. He checked where they’d left their packs, and clothes, sliding his hand up MacCready’s back and pulling him closer. 

“Don’t see why they’d try.” He replied, burying his face against MacCready’s neck. MacCready didn’t argue, surprisingly, and the two of them fell into a still slumber as the sun rose above the horizon and slanted around the shadow of the highway overpass. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, just a short little ending scene and teaser for a possible sequel idea if anyone is interested.

MacCready woke with the setting sun, and left Deacon on the dusty couch to tentatively investigate yesterday’s carnage for useful winnings while Deacon slept in. He was still reeling from that entire night; the carnage and carnal all blurring together into a mess worse than the bodies in the streets of Lexington. MacCready spent only an hour outside as the dusk slowly crept over the sky, walking aimlessly among the car shells and dried blood as he reasoned with himself back and forth. That was a feeding high, vamps need to fuck-frick- have sex after for our blood pressure. MacCready swallowed and pulled at his shirt. He figured you out. You knew he knew, but you can’t just take back a confession and a blowjob like that. He huffed and pressed the heel of his hands into his face, wringing them and turning back to the ruined house.

MacCready opened the jammed door as quietly as he could, part of him hoping Deacon was still asleep and part of him knowing they needed to get back to Starlight Drive-In immediately. To his surprise he found Deacon was still asleep, laying on the couch and sprawled comfortably with one arm draped over his side and the other on his unmoving chest. Most vampires MacCready knew still breathed in their sleep; habits from before they turned sticking despite it being unnecessary. Deacon didn’t breathe, his body unnervingly still and glowing with whatever force kept vampires alive in their unearthly way. MacCready moved slowly to Deacon’s side, transfixed once again by his… everything.

Slivers of light were beginning to peek through the boarded up windows, casting little needles onto Deacon’s chest over smears of blood and taut muscle. MacCready’s fingerprints still visible on his ribs and hips, smudged over the lightly freckled skin, Deacon’s body was a blood soaked canvas on which they chose to paint lust. His jeans were still pushed down to his thighs and MacCready swallowed hard, feeling his ears get hot as he thought about how they got there, and stayed. He ran a hand over his face again and looked down, his eyes betraying him as he almost instantly looked back up to Deacon’s face. His eyes were closed and relaxed, exposed without his trademark sunglasses, and MacCready let his eyes wander down the perfectly straight bridge of Deacon’s nose to his lips. MacCready sighed silently at Deacon’s perfect mouth and strong, square jawline, his eyes wandering down further to his Adam’s apple and dipping down the perfect arch of soft skin on his neck.

MacCready’s quiet staring was interrupted as Deacon’s eyelids fluttered open weakly, a groan abandoned at the tense corners of his mouth and a harsh rasp to his voice. MacCready was at his side in an instant, kneeling down next to the couch and blanching as he got close enough to smell Deacon. Radiation Poisoning, bad. MacCready cursed softly as Deacon tried to roll onto his side, croaking something unintelligible. MacCready felt panic snap around his ribs and he tried to stop Deacon moving too much, acrid radiation and fever rolling off him stronger when he tried.

“Shit, oh shit Deacon.” MacCready scrambled to his backpack and dug out RadAway, fumbling over the coffee table and catching Deacon as he fell to the floor.  
“I didn’t even think- that many raiders with ‘radiated blood… Should’ve dosed you last night.” MacCready said, propping a feverish Deacon against the couch and holding up the RadAway. Deacon looked up with bloodshot, yellowish eyes, frowning.  
“I always hated spicy food, never agreed with me.” He grumbled, his hands patting down on the floor in search of something. MacCready froze, then a laugh bubbled up in his chest and he snorted before he could stop it.

“I never thought about radiation like that.” he chuckled as he took Deacon’s arm and started feeding in the RadAway. Deacon kept looking around and tried to move, groaning and pushing MacCready’s steadying hand away. He was looking around with increasing urgency, squinting so hard his eyes were almost shut and rubbing them every few seconds. MacCready looked around them and frowned, blinking once before it clicked.

“Raiders took your sunglasses.” MacCready realized, glaring at the windows as if to snap at the sun to start going back down at 7:30 am. He held Deacon steady and moved around him to block most of the light, sitting up on his knees and holding the RadAway bag higher. Deacon leaned his head against MacCready’s chest and his heart did a somersault despite no longer beating. Deacon just squeezed his eyes shut and tucked his face against MacCready’s chest, falling half asleep in the time it took for the RadAway to flush his system. He stirred when MacCready took out the needle, looking up with his eyes closed and frowning.

“Gotta get back.” He said, opening his eyes with a barely concealed hiss and standing unsteadily to get dressed. MacCready helped him up, sliding his hands over Deacon’s chest a little longer than he needed to and biting his lip behind Deacon’s back. Deacon shivered, turning just enough to catch MacCready’s face before he ducked away to grab his pack. MacCready felt his ears redden again and he fumbled with his bag straps, pulling on his rifle over his shoulder and doing his utmost to look casual as he turned back around.

Deacon was now wearing a plaid button shirt and farming gloves, and MacCready couldn’t fathom what pocket of Deacon’s bag they had been kept in or how the hell he got them on so quickly. He pulled a beaten up hat from the bag and yanked it over the ginger stubble on his head, keeping the brim low over his eyes. MacCready cleared his throat awkwardly and shouldered open the door, waiting for Deacon to pass him.

MacCready stayed on Deacon’s right side the entire walk to Starlight Drive-In, slightly relieved that Deacon’s relative shortness meant he could keep a shadow across Deacon’s face. Even if it meant an unpleasant, two-day old sunburning ache on MacCready’s own skin, Deacon’s hunched shoulders and unsteady gait were marginally eased by MacCready’s shadow. Neither of them said a word the entire walk, nor when they arrived at the gates and were ushered inside by worried settlers. They separated as MacCready went to report to Nate, but as he turned he felt a small squeeze around his wrist. MacCready squeezed back, closing his eyes and cupping his palm around Deacon’s thumb one more time. They didn’t look back as they left each other’s side; and MacCready’s hands felt cold without Deacon’s.

* * *

“Creads, good to see you. Deacon take off already?” Nate asked, barely looking up from his Pipboy as MacCready walked into the newly converted bar of Starlight Drive-In. MacCready nodded, setting his pack down under a stool and grabbing an ashtray closest to him. Nate looked up, taking stock of the blood on MacCready’s clothes and haggard look on his face as he lit a cigarette. Nate sat down next to him.

“Something happen I should know about, Robert?” Nate asked quietly. MacCready looked down, frowning as he took a long drag. He looked up from under his hat and gestured at Nate’s armored Vault Suit, exhaling slowly.

“You probably won’t like it but, we left a bloody mess in Lexington. Got caught up by a raider like us and well... let’s just say I hope you like the color red too.” MacCready said, rolling his eyes at Nate’s immediate worried expression.  
“We’re both fine boss. He had somethin’ to do like usual.”

Nate let out a tense half breath and nodded, tilting his head.  
“You two, together?” MacCready choked on his cigarette and coughed, hiding his face in his elbow. He looked up with a sharply cocked eyebrow at Nate.  
“I didn’t think you could stand each other, much less take out a raider group.” Nate clarified, glancing down in thought.

“Actually, I may need you both again soon for something big.” Nate continued, thanking the bartender as she passed by with two cold beers. MacCready accepted his and caught his breath with a few drinks, waiting for Nate to explain himself further. Nate shifted in his seat nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I have a mess that needs making, or, might need making. Have you heard of Pickman’s Gallery?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not resist and I'm only sorry it may take me a while to write this maybe-sequel


End file.
